Journey to the 4077 MASH
by Starkeeper K'Treva
Summary: Katie's Mom has died, she never knew her Dad, and her Stepfather is an abusive drunk. Then things change . . . welcome to the 4077 MASH, Katie Letlow. Rated R just to be on the safe side: violence and drug usage. --First fanfic; please R&R.
1. Katie's World

Hiya!  This is my very first fan-fic, and any tips or words of advice are welcome!  No flames, please.  Feel free to post them, but that doesn't mean I'll listen – er, read.  

Disclaimer:  I do not (obviously) own the 4077 M*A*S*H, nor do I own any of the characters that I have not created.  _However_, I _do_ own Jan, Katie, the Djinn, and any other character of my own making.  So don't steal them!!  They are mine!  All mine!!  Mwah hah hah hah!  Ahem.  Okay, got that out of my system.  

And now, ladies, gentlemen, and readers of uncertain gender, the story!  Drumroll please . . .

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            A small, run-down trailer-home was parked in the Park (no pun intended) near the corner of Central and Maple streets.  The walls were now a lovely shade of muck, the windows all had several cracks, holes, or both, and at least one of the tires was flat.  Not that it mattered whether or not the tires were flat; the trailer's inhabitants weren't going anywhere anytime soon.  At least, Katie wasn't.  As for her stepfather, he was most likely off at some bar or another, and probably so drunk that he wouldn't even be able to stagger home tonight.  No great loss there.  

            Katie looked around the inside of the trailer from her seat on a beat up recliner in what passed as the TV room and dining room, as well as the place in which her stepfather entertained most of his "visitors."  Unfortunately, the inside looked just as bad as the outside.  Katie turned her attention back to the television, intent upon tonight's episode of M*A*S*H.  It was one of the few escapes she had from the real world.  _Why don't I just run away, _the thirteen year old asked silently, running a hand exhaustedly through her short, straight black hair and blinking her hazel eyes several times to stifle the watering in her eyes caused by a recent yawn.  _Anything would be an improvement over this.  But where would I go? What would I do?  I've got no food, no money, no—_ __

A loud _bang _interrupted her thoughts, causing her to jump about an inch.  Ah, that would be her stepfather.  _Pity, he made it home after all. _Katie hurriedly reached for the remote control and pressed the Power button, turning off the TV just as her stepfather entered the "room."  Jan, as he was called (although he insisted that Katie call him "Sir") had dark brown hair, matching eyes, and a gigantic nose that would have made and Eagle proud.  And, unfortunately for Katie, he was also six feet tall, extremely muscular, and quite adept at meting out punishment.  

            "K-kas-katie," he slurred, stumbling into the opposite wall of the trailer before making his way over to the beat up old couch adjacent to the recliner.  "Wha' ya doin' in mah re-reclan-recliner, girl?"  

            "N-nothing," Katie stammered, hurriedly relinquishing her seat and heading off to the small closet that served as her bedroom.  If she was lucky Jan was drunk enough to pass out in a moment, and she could safely retire for the night.

            "An' jus' where d'ya think you're goin', Katie?"

            She stopped cold.  No such luck.  

            Jan adopted an idiotic grin and patted the seat beside him.  "C'mere, girl, say 'ello t'your stepdaddy, now.  Can'tcha tell tha' Ah'm happy t' see ya?"

            Katie shook her head.  "I'd really rather not.  It's kind of late, and I have school tomorrow—"

            "Ah ah ah, ya fergot the magic word, Kasie."

            "That's _Katie_."

            "Kasie what?"

            "_Katie_, _sir_."

            Her stepfather shook his head, grabbing an empty bottle of beer from its convenient location on the small table next to his position on the couch.  "Fin'lly learnin' some respect.  Young'uns these days . . . Ah think ya need t'be learned a lesson, Kasie.  C'mere."

            "I think I'll pass on that—"

            "_Now_, Katie!"

            Katie felt a shiver run down her spine as she made her way slowly over to the couch and took the seat offered.  She knew what was coming.  Her stepfather hadn't brought home one of his "visitors," so Katie would have to make do.  Either he would beat her, or worse—

            Katie woke up screaming, then hurriedly cut out the noise.  As nightmarish as last night had been, she did _not_ want to wake Jan.  He was like a pit bull in the mornings, and that was without a hangover.  She opened the door to her closet and peered out.  Sure enough, there he was, out cold on the couch by the TV.  She gave an involuntary shudder before changing into warmer clothes and making her way outside.  She had lied last night; she didn't have school today: it was a Saturday.  Still, Jan didn't need to know that, and he probably wouldn't find out anyway.  Or if he did, he'd be too drunk to care.  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her light sweat-shirt and jogged along one of the trails through the park.  _I don't know how much longer I can take this – bad enough that Mom died, but what did she see in this jerk, and why'd she have to leave me with him?_  If only she knew the answers.  

            Katie tripped suddenly, falling flat on her face.  She slowly picked herself up, brushing off leaves and twigs from her sweatpants and sweat-shirt. Her face was scratched in a few places, but they were nothing compared to the scars left by some sessions with Jan. Angrily she looked down, determined to find out what she had tripped on, and at least curse it a few times.  When she saw what it was she was a bit startled.  It was a small brass pot, no more than five inches in diameter and about five inches tall.  The lid was hinged and closed with a funny little clasp, which explained why it hadn't come off when Katie tripped over it.  But nothing explained why she had tripped in the first place; she was positive that it hadn't been there earlier.  She shook her head slowly and pocketed it to examine later in her little closet, then continued on with her run.  

It was close to ten o'clock at night, and Jan still hadn't returned.  If Jan wasn't home by now, he probably wouldn't be home for at least another hour or so: probably found some slut at the local bar or something.  Not that Katie minded; quite the contrary, in fact.  This was the desired opportunity to take a closer look at the small brass pot without fear of interruption.  Katie pulled it out of her sweat-shirt's pocket and exited her closet/room to the more open expanse of the TV room.  

            She sat down on the recliner, the only seat in the room that didn't smell like beer, drugs, or other things she'd rather not name, and leaned forward.  As she held the small pot up to the dim light from the cracked bulb screwed sloppily into the socket on the ceiling, she could make out faint markings around the top.  She squinted for a moment or two, but she still couldn't read them.  Katie gave up and turned her attention to the task of opening the small vessel.  Not that the inside would be much different from the outside, but this was the first interesting thing that had happened in a week (aside from a rather interesting book she'd managed to 'borrow' from the library), and she planned to make the most of it.  

            After a few moments of fumbling with the funny little clasp, the lid finally came loose.  Katie lifted it—letting out a large stream of purple smoke.  No, it was turquoise now . . . no, a vivid orange . . . Katie couldn't understand why she wasn't screaming.  _With all the things I've seen in my short lifetime, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm not scared of a measly little smoke-bomb._  But the smoke wasn't dissipating at all like it should.  It wasn't even spreading out a bit.  In fact, it was forming a definite shape.  

            "Kyler Swampmeter, Wish Givers Incorporated.  How may I be of service?"

            Katie did scream this time.  The smoke had formed into the shape of a small – elf, was the only word she could think of.  It would be two feet tall if it wasn't sitting down on a pillow of purple smoke.  Its hair was covered by a small, brilliantly colored turban, its eyes were a shade of purple to match the smoke-pillow, and its skin was slowly changing colors from a soft mauve to a lovely shade of maroon.   

            "Oh, come now, that's no way to greet a wish-giver!  Oh, alright, the colors are a bit much—" the elf's skin stopped changing colors at an incredibly pale lavender "—But otherwise, I really do think that I'm quite presentable."

            Katie couldn't do anything but stare, her eyes so round that had they gotten any rounder they might have popped out of her head.  The elf was talking . . . she couldn't believe that this was happening . . .

            "Yes, I do in fact talk," the elf snapped.  "What do you think my mouth is for?  We Djinni don't eat, you know.  We don't need to.  And, as I've just mentioned, I'm not an elf.  I'm a Djinn.  What you might call a 'Genie,' although I'd prefer it if you'd use the proper title.  Now, as I've also just mentioned, I am a wish-giver, and you have released me from that G-d-forsaken-little . . . _thing_.  How may I be of service?"

            Katie merely continued to stare, trying desperately to come up with some rational explanation, but she could find none. 

            The elf – no, Djinn – sighed and propped its head up on one of its hands.  "I know that little pot isn't much compared to some of the fancy oriental jugs and golden lamps that you've most likely heard about, and it's common knowledge that I'm not one of the best Djinni around, but couldn't you at least _try_ to make a wish?  Anything you want, it's yours.  And without any of the stupid little tricks that a lot of those other Djinni throw in; I'll make it risk free."

            Katie finally managed to get her brain working again.  _Maybe this is all a dream; maybe I'm just dreaming this.  _But then – _I hope not._  "I don't suppose you could get me out of here, could you?"

            The Djinn sat up eagerly and rubbed his little hands together.  "Ah hah!  Now we're getting somewhere!  Where would you like to go, and when would you like to return?"

            "Return?"

            "You'll have to come back to 'reality', or whatever it is you'd like to call it, soon.  Like I said, I'm only a minor Djinni; I can't send you someplace forever.  Well, unless wherever you want to go only requires a one-way plane ticket and some luggage."

            Katie nodded.  "I guess that makes sense."  _As much as anything can make sense right now . . ._

            Suddenly she heard a loud thud, and then hard knocking on the door to the trailer.  "O-open up, K-kas-kassie!"  It was Jan.  

            Katie shrieked, leaping to her feet and hurriedly checking the second-rate watch on her left wrist.  It was 11:00 already!

            The Djinn shook his head sadly.  "Real sorry about your life, kiddo.  But I can give you a vacation, honest.  Just say the word, and you're there."

            Jan had apparently managed to break the hinges on the door.  He burst into the the trailer, grinning like the lunatic Katie knew he was.  "Aaww, li'l Kasie's not happy t' see 'er ol' stepdaddy?"  Apparently he couldn't see the small Djinn shooting him disapproving glances from across the room.

            "Just say the word, kiddo—"

            Katie bit her lip and backed away from her stepfather.  Then she nodded.  "M*A*S*H 4077!  I can't give you the details, but you should be able to find it—"

            The Djinn nodded and grinned.  "Piece o' cake, kiddo; I know the place and time you're talking about.  I can give you about a month there if I use most of my energy.  That's no problem; I'm not planning on making too many more house calls for a while.  Remember, though, if you die over there you'll be instantly transported right back here.  Now, let me throw in a few perks as you take your leave of this . . . no, the language is too strong to use in front of a thirteen year old." As the world around her dimmed, Katie could hear her stepfather's drunken yells and screams.  She could barely make out the Djinn aiming a finger at his rear-end, which promptly burst into flames.  "Sorry, kiddo; we Djinni can't kill anybody.  But we can make life a living—" She never heard the rest; at that moment everything went black.  


	2. Welcome to the 4077 MASH

            Katie awoke to find herself lying on a low cot with green blankets and a not-very-soft white pillow.  The place looked vaguely familiar, although she couldn't place it.  Where was she?  What was she doing here?  She would have sat up and taken a look around, but she felt too weak to lift a finger.  She did manage to glance over at her arm, however and immediately she wished that she hadn't.  There was a tube in her arm!  A tube.  In.  Her.  ARM!!  Katie began to scream, twisting and trying to tear the tube out.  "Get it off me!  Get it off!  Get it OFF!"  

            People began shouting, but she didn't pay any attention.  "Get this thing out of my arm!"  She continued to tear at the tube until someone grabbed her arms and forced her to stop.  Two someones, actually – two surgeons she immediately recognized as one Hawkeye Pierce and BJ Hunnicut.  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped slightly open.  "Hawkeye?  BJ?  What're you guys doing here?"

            "Trying to fix you up," Hawkeye commented, readjusting the tube in her arm as BJ forced her to hold her arms still.  "You're not being very cooperative."

            Katie screamed and tried to move again, but BJ held her still.  "It's alright, kiddo," BJ said reassuringly as Hawkeye finished with the tube and reached over to the end of the bed to take a look at her chart.  "You're going to be just fine."

            Hawkeye nodded and gestured to BJ.  "What he said, unless you try to tear that tube out of your arm again.  Trust me, that won't be very good for your health."

            Katie stopped trying to move, breathing heavily and looking wildly from BJ, to Hawkeye, and back to BJ again.  Hawkeye suddenly swore and stood up, dropping the clipboard like a hot potato.  BJ raised an eyebrow.  "Last time I saw the charts, Hawkeye, her stats were perfectly fine.  With the exception of the hardware store we removed from her stomach, that is.  What's the matter?"

            "I'm sick of it, BJ!  Sick of it!  She's just a kid!"

            BJ patted Hawkeye on the arm, still keeping a wary eye on Katie in case she tried thrashing again.  "I know, Hawkeye.  Over half our customers are kids.  They must have heard of our special discount for soldiers under the age of twenty."

            "No, BJ, this one's really a kid!  She's only thirteen years old!  By all rights she should be back in the States, or Tokyo, or . . . or anywhere else but here!"

            BJ sighed and turned back to Katie.  "Well, kiddo, Hawkeye here has a point.  You shouldn't be here.  No one in their right mind would bring a child to a place like this, and somehow I don't think you came here on your own initiative.  So . . . mind explaining why?"

            "If I knew, I'd . . ." Wait a moment.  It was coming back now . . . something about an elf, or Genie, or – or whatever it had called itself.  And . . . darkness.  The world gone.  Waking up here . . . Yes, she remembered.  Now her memories were coming back to her.  _I have an explanation, but not one that anyone here will believe.  For right now, I think I'll just play a little forgetfulness.  I do it all the time at home.  _"I'd tell you.  But I don't, so I can't."

            BJ and Hawkeye exchanged glances; Katie knew that they couldn't have missed the short break in her answer, but either they had decided to ignore it, or they had decided to discuss it later.  She didn't really care which it was, as long as they'd let her rest now.  _I can't believe how tired I am . . ._ She tried to stifle a yawn, but she was unsuccessful.  BJ flashed her a grin as Hawkeye made his farewell and headed over to a cot across the way.  "Well, kiddo, you've had a long day.  I'll let you have some rest; just don't start thrashing again."  He patted her on the arm, then got up and went to join Hawkeye.  Within moments Katie was so fast asleep that she wouldn't have woken if the 4077 had been shelled.    

            Hawkeye Pierce was washing his hands in the room outside to OR when BJ came in.  Hawkeye could tell that something was wrong by his silence, and when he turned around he almost had a heart attack.  That wasn't a look you often saw on BJ's calm features.  

            "Hey, what's wrong, BJ?"

            BJ leaned against the wall opposite the sinks, trying, and failing, to control his expression.

            "Hawk, I need to talk to you about that patient.  The kid who woke up screaming this morning."

            Hawkeye finished drying his hands and joined BJ as they made their way outside.  "What about the kid?"

            BJ took a deep breath.  "Look, this might seem like a long shot, but I think – I think she was abused."

            "Abused?"

            "You know, beaten, r—"

            "I know what abuse is, BJ.  I just couldn't believe my ears.  Or maybe I didn't _want_ to believe my ears."

            BJ thrust his hands into his pockets, staring off ahead into space as he continued.  "The kid has bruises all over her hands, arms, neck – you name it, there's a bruise there."

            "Sounds like how I feel when I come out of the OR."

            "Yeah, but worse.  These bruises are in the shape of fingers, and occasionally an entire handspan of bruise – there're two on her neck, like someone was trying to choke her a while ago.  Those aren't marks made by shells and shrapnel, Hawk."

            Hawk frowned as he pushed open the door to the Swamp.  "Yeah, I know.  I guess that explains why she's out here.  Probably running away."

            BJ nodded.  "That's what I thought; did you notice the small catch in her reply when we asked her why?"

Hawkeye moaned and collapsed on his bed.  "Just what I need," he groaned, "More pain and suffering."  

BJ sat down on his own bed, propping his head up on his hands and staring off into space again.  "I just wanted to run my idea by you before I go to the Colonel."

Hawk opened his eyes.  "You're what?"

BJ sat up and glared at him.  "I'm going to the Colonel."

Hawk raised his hands in defeat.  "Alright, alright, calm down, BJ.  I just wanted to know why, that's all."

"I want permission for her to stay with the 4077 M*A*S*H."

"You _what_?!"

"Come on, Hawk, I can't let her go back to wherever it is she came from.  She'll get beaten again, and who knows what else.  At the very least we can get permission for her to bunk with the nurses for a while.  And then we can make sure that she goes to someone who loves her, someone who'll give her the care and respect she deserves."  

Hawkeye sighed and lay back on the bed.  "And I suppose you'll be wanting my help."

"That's right, Hawkeye."

"Fine," Hawk groaned.  "Alright, who's up for a martini?"

Frank chose his moment to stomp into the M*A*S*H, slamming the door behind him.  He took a look at Hawkeye and BJ.  BJ had lain back on his bed and was attempting to get some kind of rest, and Hawkeye was attempting to numb his memories of the pain and suffering he saw daily by taking them for a swim in a martini.  Gin, _very_ dry.  

"You two make me sick!"

            Hawkeye reached over and nudged BJ with his foot.  "Hey!  BJ!  Did you hear that?  We make Frank sick!"

            BJ nodded slowly, his eyes still closed.  "We're getting better, Hawk.  Time was, we could only annoy him.  Now we make him sick.  Just so long as he doesn't vomit in here."

            "Oh, go suck an egg, you two!"  Frank snarled, making his way to his own bed on the far side of the room.  

            "I would, Frank, if there were any eggs, fresh or otherwise, to suck," Hawkeye quipped.  "But the army chickens haven't been laying very well, so you'll have to settle for a martini olive."

            BJ cracked a small grin, but neither of them really cared whether or not Hawk's comment was humorous as they both fought exhaustion in their own way.  Frank merely scowled and sat down to his Reader's Digest.  

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Many thanks to my first reviewer!!  Unfortunately, I cannot thank you by name, but I think you know who you are.  I greatly appreciate the review; constructive criticism is always welcome!  


	3. Window to BJ's Past

Starkeeper: Again, many thanks to my first reviewer!!  Constructive criticism rules the world!

Djinn: Except when it doesn't.  

Starkeeper: Through gritted teeth Shut up.  Anyway, made a few changes to Chapter 2; I'll probably be making more changes to all chapters at a later point in time.  

Also, I'm considering changing the Rating to PG-13 . . . I'm not entirely sure if this is R-rated or not.  Please review and let me know what you think . . .

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            Katie woke up after what had seemed to be a short nap to find a tall, dark-haired man with an extremely large nose changing the bed-pan of the bed on her right.  He was wearing a knee-length dark blue skirt with white polka-dots, a white silk blouse, and a white hat with a few flowers stuck in the brim.  A very large diamond earring dangled from each ear.  Katie grinned; there was only one person in the 4077 M*A*S*H who wore dresses, earrings, and high-heels.  "Hello, Corporal Klinger."

            Klinger turned around and stared at her for a moment.  "Have I met you before?"

            Katie shook her head, wincing at the headache it gave her.  "Not here, Klinger.  I know you, but I don't think you've ever met me."

            Klinger flashed a grin.  "Why thank you, Ma'am!  You'll have seen me on the fashion page of the army magazine.  No doubt you'd like my autograph?"

            Katie shook her head again.  Stars exploded in front of her eyes.  "N-no, K-klinger, I-I'm s-s-satisfied with m-making your acquaintance."  

            "Whoa, kid, are you okay?  You don't look too good.  And you don't sound all that well, either."

            "I-I'm f-f-fine, K-klinger."

            "Hell you are."  Klinger looked around for one of the doctors in the Post-Op.  "Hey, Major – help me out over here, will you?"

            Frank and Margaret both turned to look at Klinger at the same time.  "Major _Houlihan_," Klinger quickly clarified.  

            "And just what is the meaning of this?"  Frank snapped.  "A mere _nurse_ is going to take care of a patient while there's a doctor in here?"

            "A mere _nurse_?!  Frank!  That's insulting!" The nurse in question, a blond-haired woman Katie recognized as Major Margaret Houlihan, did _not _look very pleased with Frank's comment.  

            "I mean, uh . . ." Frank was at a loss for words.  However, BJ, materializing seemingly from out of nowhere (Katie couldn't see the door), was not at such a loss.  "Well, there's a doctor in here, now, Frank.  You can get back to what you were doing—nothing."

            "Why I oughta . . ." Frank muttered as he stormed out of the Post-Op.  

            BJ sat down on Katie's bunk and felt her pulse, then checked the chart.  "You're alright kiddo.  All you need is rest, relaxation, and a higher dose of pain-killers.  Unfortunately, I can't give you the third one; that would be dangerous for someone of your weight.  But the first two are all yours."

            Katie tried to nod, but it hurt too much.  "T-thanks, B-BJ," she stammered.  

            BJ nodded.  "No problem.  I've got a question for you, before you travel to dream-land."

            "Sh-shoot."

            "How do you know my name, and Hawkeye's and Klinger's?  I know for a fact that you haven't met either of them before, although you might have heard of Klinger.  Even among the crazies, he's a rare one."  

            Katie's smile returned.  "B-but f-for all th-that h-he c-can't get a s-s-section eight."

            BJ stared at her for a moment, as if trying to figure out the answer to a very difficult question.  Then he sighed and rose to his feet.  "Don't worry, kiddo, you'll be fine.  You'll be just fine."  Then he left the Post-Op.  

            Katie closed her eyes, trying to get back to sleep, away from the pain and the worry.  On top of what had happened last night, she had just had surgery.  _I'd better not make this a habit_.  She was very tired.  So very tired . . .

            "What did she say?"  Hawkeye and Klinger chorused as BJ came out of Post-Op.  Hawkeye glared at Klinger.  "We don't need another Radar, Klinger."  Hawkeye and Klinger walked on either side of BJ as they headed back to the swamp.  "Well?" Hawk asked after a moment, "What did you find out?"

            BJ sighed.  "Nothing, except that somehow she knows our names, despite the fact that none of us have seen her before.  And she also knows what a Section Eight is," he added, "even though she's only thirteen years old.  She mentioned it while we had a brief discussion on Klinger."

            "Hey!  I resent gossip!  Haven't you heard that it's rude to talk about someone behind their back?"

            "If you don't like it, you only have to turn 180 degrees," Hawkeye replied.  "Well, you've got my support, BJ.  I'll get the kid a bed with the nurses.  They'll love to have her.  And it'll give me an excuse for visiting them."

            BJ shook his head, smiling slightly.  That was not the reaction Pierce expected.  

            "What's wrong with you, BJ?  I've never seen you so . . . so . . . _driven_, maybe that's the word.  It's like someone harnessed you to a sled and started cracking the whip."

            "I'd rather not talk about it," BJ replied as Klinger split to finish up some job or another.  His face was a study in opaque.  

            "Oh, come on, BJ!  You never do anything without a reason—even your practical jokes have some sort of reason behind them."

            "Curiosity killed the cat." If Hawkeye had been less focused on finding out the answer to his question, he might have noticed that BJ's tone was no longer easygoing or remotely friendly.   

            "But satisfaction brought it back.  Come on, Beej—"   

"Look, I don't want to talk about it!"  They had reached the Swamp now; BJ stormed inside and slammed the door behind him.  

            "Whoa, horsie," Hawkeye commented as he entered the Swamp, raising his hands in defeat.  "Aren't you the one who always said that if you've got verbal poison inside, so to speak, you should talk until it runs out?"  

            BJ stood up from his sprawling position on his bed and walked over to Hawkeye until he was less than a foot away, and staring him right in the eye.  Hawkeye backed up a little; this wasn't a BJ he had ever seen before, and it made him _very_ uneasy.  

            "Leave me alone," BJ said slowly.  "Just leave – me – alone.  Got that?"

            Hawkeye's mouth was suddenly very dry.  "Got it, Beej."  

            BJ nodded.  "Good."  Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.  Hawkeye stared after him.  _What is _wrong_ with him? _Hawkeye walked slowly over to the door and peered outside; through the dimming light he could just barely see BJ disappear around the corner of the Post-Op building.  Steeling himself against an inevitable reaction, Hawkeye followed.  

            As BJ stalked out of the Swamp, he was already beginning to regret his actions.  Not enough to go back, though.  Not yet.  Instead he headed over to the Post-Op.  No one was there except Klinger, changing the bedpans.  The sky outside was growing dark fairly quickly, and all of the patients were asleep.  

            "How may I be of service?"  Klinger asked as he finished loading the 'used' bedpans onto the cart.  BJ shook his head; right now all he wanted was some time alone, some time to think.  "Very well, sir.  Pleasant watch!"  

            BJ stopped halfway across the room, surprised for a moment.  _I'm not on watch_ . . . Oh, right.  It was Frank's watch right now, which he was probably shirking to spend some time chasing Margaret.  That was good; it meant that BJ would be uninterrupted for a while, unless Hawk came looking for him.  _Damn him . . . _Couldn't Hawkeye tell when someone wanted to be left alone?  _No, he's just trying to do his best as a friend.  _BJ took a seat on the end of the bunk belonging to the thirteen year old – he didn't know her name, and neither did the charts.  _Hawkeye just doesn't understand.    _

The girl stirred and whimpered, no doubt in the middle of some unpleasant dream.  BJ sighed and ran his hand through his sandy hair.  "It's alright, kiddo.  You're going to be just fine.  Everything's going to turn out okay.  You'll see; me'n Hawkeye will take care of you."  As he said the words of reassurance, BJ wondered who they were meant for – the kid, or himself.  

            "Hawkeye can't understand," he said, so softly that a listener would have had to strain enormously to hear the words.  "He can never understand what it's like for us, kiddo.  He doesn't know what it's like to have someone you love and trust cause you such pain and take pleasure from it.  He can't know what it's like to have your love and trust shredded bit by bit, until you are no longer capable of either.  He will never understand the shame that comes of believing in your heart that the abuse is your own fault, even while in your mind you _know_ that it's not.  Hawkeye doesn't know what fear is.  He thinks he knows, but he will never know.  He _cannot_ ever know."  BJ bent over slightly, his body wracked with silent sobs.  

            Hawkeye stopped at the entrance of the Post-Op room to allow Klinger to exit with his cargo of bedpans.  "Is BJ in there?"

            Klinger nodded.  "Yes, sir, Captain sir!"

            Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.  Not only was Klinger acting in an over-enthusiastic manner when it came to carting bedpans, but he had also changed into a regular uniform.  Not even a scarf or earrings did the corporal wear.  "Changed your mind about being crazy, Klinger?"

            The Lebanese shook his head and grinned.  "No, sir!  I figure that if I start acting like a normal GI, they'll think I've really gone crazy!"

            Hawkeye nodded absently.  "Best of luck, Klinger.  If you'll excuse me . . ."

            Klinger saluted and headed off to clean the bedpans.  Hawkeye took the few remaining steps to the door of the Post-Op.  He placed his hand on the door and was about to push it open when he heard a low voice.  Whether it was because he was reluctant to have another show-down with BJ, or if it was just because he wanted to work on his eavesdropping skills (most likely the first, though Hawkeye wouldn't admit it to himself), Hawkeye stopped and removed his hand from the door.  Slowly he moved so that he could just barely see in through the door's small window; hopefully if someone in the room glanced up, they wouldn't notice.  

            BJ sat on the bed of the kid they had been discussing earlier, running a hand through his hair like he did when stressed or nervous.  Hawkeye could hear him say, "It's alright, kiddo.  You're going to be just fine.  Everything's going to turn out okay.  You'll see; me'n Hawkeye will take care of you."  Hawk couldn't help but grin; that was typical of BJ – he always seemed to find the right words to calm someone down, or the right way to offer support.  BJ lowered his voice, and Hawkeye had to lean forward slightly in order to hear him.  After a few moments he wished that he hadn't.  Hawkeye practically threw himself away from the door and headed back to the Swamp at what his father called a 'Power Walk' – not quite a run or jog.  

            He threw open the door of the Swamp, ignoring the incredible noise it made as it slammed shut behind him, ignoring Frank's long-suffering, reproachful look from his cot across the room.  Hawkeye sat down on the edge of his bed, gripping the rim so hard that his knuckles began to turn white.  What he had heard over by the Post-Op . . . _No wonder BJ's so determined to see that the kid gets a better life.  No small wonder that he caught the signs of abuse long before I even guessed that they might be there.  _Frank continued to glare at him from across the room, but Hawkeye couldn't think of a single wisecrack to throw at him, nor did he care.  

            "Cat got your wing, Hawkeye?"  Frank began his odd, whining chortle that served him for a laugh.  Hawkeye continued to stare into space.  After a while Frank stopped.  "Hmph.  Some people just can't appreciate a good joke," he grumbled, returning to his Reader's Digest.  


End file.
